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sad poem

cuando miraba en sus ojos
los drowses pálidos del día en el occidental empapan
sueño, hermano gris de la muerte
los he oĂ­do en la noche
cuando volvĂ­ en la puesta del sol
escuche
se van los tres, esas hermanas raras
me pregunto a veces si es realmente verdad

 



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